


baptize me with ocean, recognize my devotion

by swevery



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swevery/pseuds/swevery
Summary: "Who knows? This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.""I assure you it won't be. This is a strictly professional agreement."Famous last words.
Relationships: Annabelle Cane/Helen | The Distortion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	baptize me with ocean, recognize my devotion

**Author's Note:**

> am i satisfied with this? not particularly. will i delete my google doc and pretend this never existed if i don't post this rn? absolutely.

This was the third time that week her door had been ignored and Helen was starting to feel a little dejected. Of course, she could have easily made her own way through, but she wanted Annabelle Cane to come through of her own accord. There had been very few interactions between the Web and the Spiral with Michael, what with his penchant for petty revenge taking over. _Such small goals_ , she couldn’t help but think. Sure, the Great Twisting was a ways off, but that didn’t mean he had to become positively boring in his outlook. And now Helen was left with the job to repair their reputation as a worthwhile Entity, which was much easier than she had thought it would be, considering the state the Fears were in at the moment. 

Though Annabelle, unlike the rest, was proving to be more difficult. The daughter of the Web had seemed so much more interesting than the other Entities she was left to contend with, even from her limited knowledge of the woman. Always a flair for the dramatic. Helen appreciated that.

What she didn’t appreciate was being forced to traverse her own hallways for a simple conversation. She was capable of being a perfectly accommodating host and took great pride in her hallways. Mostly for the suffering they were able to cause, but she thought Annabelle would admire that. And yet, as always, she was left to do the work herself. 

Her door came out a foot or so off the ground, into a much more poorly lit room than her hallways had been. Someone really ought to let the Web’s followers know that an array of cobwebs didn’t count as interior decorating. She ran her hands down the newly formed crinkles in her skirt, pressed tight against her thighs, as her heels collided with the ground. Helen Richardson’s respectable estate agent attire hadn’t been an entire write-off in her books.

“Ever heard of knocking?” 

Annabelle was in the corner of the room, an extensive web spun off the ground beneath her. Helen couldn’t work out exactly what it was connected to, but she decided not to give it much more thought. _It is what it is._ Annabelle herself was a lean woman, her complexion a deep brown, warmer than Helen’s own, and shorter than she had expected. She didn’t seem particularly surprised by her presence. In fact, she appeared more ambivalent than anything. That wouldn’t do.

“Ever heard of answering the door, Ms. Cane?” The other woman winced at the formality, sitting up on the web. It moved to accommodate her, dipping and tightening. Helen couldn’t help but wonder how in-tune it was to her desires, if it molded and distorted itself to please Annabelle’s whims like Helen’s hallways did for her.

“Annabelle.”

“ _Annabelle_ ,” Helen repeated.

“I figured you would come of your own accord if it was so important.” She regarded Helen for a moment. “Besides, I have no interest in getting lost in your corridors.”

“Ah, but you would enjoy yourself! I’d even let you bring a few of your… pets along for the ride.” Well, she’d have allowed them to pass the threshold, but they wouldn’t stay together for very much longer. She figured mentioning that wouldn’t help her case though. “And I’m just dropping in, getting acquainted with everyone, saying hello. All that.”

“Hello, Ms. Richardson.” Annabelle’s expression hadn’t changed since Helen entered the room, but she figured a good poker face did seem essential for her line of work.

“So formal. And not entirely correct.” Now Annabelle's lips turned down into a frown. “ _Names_. Such complex things, aren’t they? You can call me Helen.”

“Better than that blond one, I suppose.”

“And nicer to look at.” She grinned, hoping it came across more as genuine amusement, rather than hunger. The two got rather confusing sometimes.

Annabelle hummed. “I suppose. Bit… garish though, don’t you think?”

_Clearly_ Annabelle had never worked in real estate. Then again, she hadn’t either. The performance of it was fun though. Helen thought that her orange blouse had once come with a jacket, but she had long-since gotten rid of that. Besides, it matched the headband that one of the young women who had ever so _kindly_ stepped into her hallways had loaned to her, now holding back any stray curls. Within a blink, the blouse had turned into a rich purple.

“I’m hurt. But I suppose that’s what free will’s for, isn’t it?” Helen asked, an eyebrow quirked. She took a moment, her eyes tracing conspicuously over Annabelle’s form. If Helen’s clothes were garish, Annabelle’s were downright gloomy. Though not _entirely_ unflattering . “Haven’t you ever heard of colour, little spider?” Annabelle glared at the reference to her height, but didn’t take the bait.

“So what did happen to your predecessor in the end?” 

“Ah, poor Michael. He got… replaced, let’s say. Locked out. The Spiral decided I was better for the job and can you really blame them?” She gave a little twirl as she laughed, the sound ricocheting around the room.

“What did you do to be the one replacing him?” Annabelle looked vaguely interested now, her legs hanging off the side of her web.

  
  


“Be better.” She said it simply, like that was all there was to it.

It wasn’t, of course. Helen Richardson had spent days traversing the hallways, calling out Jon’s name, then her mother’s, then her own. It was the only way she could think of to not forget it. It was more than a few days until she realised no one was coming to save her. Either she adapted to a life in these hallways, or she found a way out. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to live the rest of her days in that incongruous mess of colours Michael called a hallway. Up until that moment, she’d been left alone to stumble through doors, clinging onto the shred of hope that perhaps she would finally find the door to leave. The sudden sound of groaning, of pain, of _something_ to finally prove she wasn’t alone, sent joy through her.

A young man was slumped against one of the walls, exhausted. Hopeless. Helen realised then that she had two choices: stick with him, try to get out together or leave. Or… there was always a third option. _Fuck it,_ she thought, _if she wasn’t leaving, she’d make this place her home._ Even now, Helen couldn’t forget the thrill that shot through her as she leaned down, encouraging them to go through just _one_ more door, one more trial. They wouldn’t leave, of course. No one ever did, not for long. But Helen felt stronger each time. A handful of people later, each one’s suffering prolonged, and Helen remembered how to laugh again. Distantly, she realised that it wasn’t _her_ laugh, not anymore. But what did that matter when she could feel power humming under her fingers with each door she touched?

Annabelle finally hopped down from her web, running a hand through the tight curls cropped close to her head but avoiding the mass of webs to the left side. “And now you’re here.”

“Now I’m here.” Annabelle was a few steps from her now, looking up.

“Can I interest you in a deal?” Helen perked up, intrigued. _Finally_ , something interesting.

“Hm. I’m listening.”

“You know of the new Archivist, I’m assuming.” They both knew Annabelle would not have brought the topic up if she didn’t have an extensive understanding of their interactions so far, so Helen didn’t think to reply, gesturing for the other woman to continue. “I’d like to keep him alive.”

“Ha. Tall order.” Not a day went by when that man didn’t find himself in trouble with some Avatar or another. “Why?”

“My reasons are my own.” 

“Spoilsport.” Helen watched Annabelle for a moment. Making any sort of deal with a follower of the Web was a good way to get yourself entangled in their plans, but making one with Annabelle Cane? _Not_ a good idea, even if Helen would appreciate the excuse to return.

“Just look out for the Archivist. No ulterior motives.” Helen laughed.

“ _Please_ don’t make me laugh like that. I’m nowhere near stupid enough to believe that, it’ll do you well to remember that.” After composing herself, she cocked her head. “And if I refuse? If I seek him out now, take him into my hallways?”

“I will - ”

“What will you do, little spider?” Annabelle’s expression hardened. If Helen had looked down, she would have seen silk spinning between her fingers, but she did not. If making a deal with Annabelle would have been dangerous, taunting her was even worse. But what was life without a little danger? 

“Do you want to find out?” 

Helen smiled. Her hand did not move, but her fingers grew until they were tracing Annabelle’s jaw, leaving faint lines in its sharpened wake. In her defence, her breath did not hitch and her breathing did not visibly speed up, but Annabelle’s eyes were firmly rooted on Helen’s now. _Pretty things_ , she thought. Without looking away, Helen’s fingers travelled upwards until they met her lips. The touch was feather-light, brushing over them the once before her fingers shrunk bank to their usual, unsharpened size. “I don’t appreciate threats.” Annabelle’s lips, now parted, turned up into a forced, overly saccharine smile.

“Then don’t start them, Distortion.” Annabelle let out a sigh, turning back for a moment. “We’re both civilised women here, aren’t we? I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

“Women, names. You’re caught up on very complex things today, aren’t you?” Regardless, Helen relented, her shoulders softening. “I want a favour in return.”

“What favour?”

“Oh, I don’t know. That’s the fun of it, isn’t it?” Annabelle didn’t look particularly amused, but there was no pleasing the Web. “It could be nothing, it could be everything. We’ll have to see how I’m feeling. In my defence, babysitting the Archivist is a _lot_ of work.”

There was a long moment of silence. Helen amused herself by changing her blouse from purple to green and then back to orange. Of course, she was aware Annabelle was considering the best way to agree to her terms and still manage to manipulate her into getting what she wanted, but that was fine. As far as she knew, Helen would be acting of her own accord. If her decisions just happened to benefit the Web, well, that was a happy coincidence for them.

“Deal.” Annabelle reached a hand out, gripping Helen’s far firmer than strictly necessary.

“Oh, I’m _so very_ glad you’ve come to the right decision here.” Annabelle looked less than a minute away from rolling her eyes at Helen’s tone, but didn’t comment. She had gotten what she wanted, after all. “Who knows? This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“I assure you it won’t be.” Helen wasn’t sure if Annabelle wasn’t wearing shoes or if she really was that light-footed but by the time she looked up, the other woman was hitched back up on the web, her legs crossed. If the Web hadn’t made such a name for itself, she imagined most of the Entities would underestimate Annabelle with how unassuming she could be. “This is a strictly professional agreement.”

Famous last words.

* * *

It had been less than a day after making the deal when Helen realised just how much work it was going to be. It was a good thing she enjoyed the Institute’s tunnels. At least Annabelle hadn’t specified exactly what looking after the Archivist entailed. If he got himself kidnapped again any time soon, she’d _probably_ intervene. But his colleague spilling freshly made tea on him because neither knew to look where they were going? Or, more accurately, were busy looking at each other? That was his own problem. If the Watcher’s own disciple couldn’t use his eyes, there was no saving him.

_Still, there was an upside to all of this_ , she thought. Although Annabelle was ignoring her doors, which was, quite frankly, still hurtful, it gave Helen an excuse to regularly annoy the daughter of Puppets in the form of ‘updates’. She wasn’t quite exactly why she was doing this, but it filled the time. The Institute staff avoided her doors vehemently and even putting on the real estate facade for an hour before she welcomed her guest to their new home was becoming an old amusement. And while Annabelle rarely seemed overjoyed by her presence, Helen hadn’t been kicked out yet and she interpreted that as others would take a warm welcome.

* * *

“His own letter opener!” At least it was amusing to watch. The Archivist really should consider employing staff who are better with blood, considering the route he’s going down. “Humans are such primitive things aren’t they? Needing _letter openers_. How quaint.”

“Yes, I mean, you use your fingers for that, which is, of course, the very definition of advanced.” Helen wasn’t exactly sure if Annabelle was rolling her eyes. It was hard to see what she was doing, considering she was hanging upside down from the ceiling, but she could make an educated guess. “If you’re staying, close the door. You’re letting in a draft.”

“Doesn’t the blood go rushing to your head up there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” _Obviously._ Helen wouldn’t have asked otherwise.

“Do you always have to avoid even the simplest of questions?” Since first meeting Annabelle, Helen had been given exactly two straight answers: one of the days she had visited was a Wednesday and she detested shopping for clothes online. The latter took almost an hour to pester out of her. “Let’s play a game. Truth or dare?”

“Has anyone ever told you that, for a follower of It Is Not What It Is, you’re terrible at deception?” Helen pouted. Annabelle couldn’t have seen it, but that did not stop her from continuing as if she had. “You’re literally offering up truthful answers to my questions unprompted.”

“I never said I would pick truth - I’m a conscientious objector there. Better make your dares interesting.”

“This is stupid.”

“Yes. Now, truth or dare?”

Annabelle hesitated for a moment, before spinning down from the ceiling. Her body curled in on itself, landing gracefully on her feet a few steps away from Helen.

“Truth.” Her eyes narrowed. “Within reason.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s most certainly not how this game works.” 

Helen thought about all she could ask the daughter of Puppets, considering all the plans she was almost certainly spinning. Whatever game she was playing with Jon, the deal with Hilltop Road, why she was still putting up with Helen’s presence when she claimed to detest it so eagerly. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“What?”

“Your favourite colour. Colour. You understand the concept, yes?” Annabelle looked like she would have been more comfortable telling Helen about her plans for world domination in elaborate detail, rather than give this bit of information up.

Through clenched teeth, she muttered, “Purple.”

The game continued like that for a handful of rounds. It wasn’t until the third time Helen left through her door and came back through a new one almost instantaneously that Annabelle stopped daring her to leave her room. Then she began phrasing her dares to get information, only to be rewarded with even less fulfilling half-truths. It was hardly the interesting game Helen had expected it to be, especially with how interested Annabelle seemed in the woman who had previously worn this body. She decided it was time to make things a little more fun.

“What?”

“You heard me. Try my clothes on.”

“That’s... what would be the point of that? Give me one good reason why I should.””

“Because I think it would be amusing and you picked dare. Unfortunately, my dear, that’s how the game works.” Annabelle’s nose scrunched up at the suggestion and Helen wasn’t sure whether to dwell on how mock-outrage was a rather adorable look on her or be offended over her protests. She could already imagine Annabelle’s disgust at the word _adorable_ being uttered in any relation to her.

“They wouldn’t fit me.” 

“If you think I’m not fully capable of shrinking my clothes to your size, then what would be the point of becoming an Avatar?”

Helen ignored Annabelle's comments regarding what exactly the Fears were designed for. She fed her God more than enough sacrifices to keep it sated, and in return she should be allowed to have some fun with her own appearance. 

Within a blink, Helen had a replica of her clothes neatly folded and fit to size in the palm of her hands. Annabelle’s complaint that Helen’s clothes wouldn’t fit her as they were had been the first fair complaint of the night; Helen had an enticingly fuller frame compared to the other woman’s slight, dancer-like form. 

She stared blankly when Annabelle didn’t make a move to take them.

“Aren’t you going to turn around?” 

“Oh, _that’s_ your line.” She sighed. “Fine.”

Helen turned, stretching her hand out behind her. She smirked at Annabelle’s sound of contempt, but kept her eyes trained on the wall in front of her. Barring the cobwebs that seemed to follow Annabelle with every step she took, the room was rather barren. A bed in the corner, a telephone on an otherwise empty desk. She knew there had been a pile of brochures there last week and couldn’t help but wonder what happened to them - _Worried about staying safe online?_ and _Making your ideas reality!_ \- had Annabelle sat down and read them? A photo frame on the wall, glass cracked. She’d taken to decorating the empty frame with multicoloured spirals stacked one on top of the other until it had become an unrecognisable mess to anyone’s eye but her own.

Helen wondered what this place was to Annabelle; it certainly wasn’t the famous Hilltop Road she’d heard so much about. She didn’t think Annabelle would let her anywhere near that place, especially not after her rather… unsubtle attempts to lure a sacrifice there. That’s what she deserved for trying to follow in Michael’s footsteps, she supposed. 

The question had been enough to deter Helen’s mind from wandering to the sight behind her until she heard the rustling of clothes behind her, the expensive fabric she recognised as her own against Annabelle’s skin. _So this was the feeling all those movies Helen Richardson had watched as a teenager were about_ , she thought. Another spiral joined the frame, this time larger and less carefully curated than the others.

“Seriously?” Helen hummed questioningly in response. “The jacket doesn’t fit.”

“Oh that _is_ a shame.”

Slowly enough for Annabelle to protest if she wasn’t ready, Helen turned back around and took in the sight before her. She’d grown so accustomed to seeing the woman in loose-fitting vintage pieces that, even resized, the sight of her in Helen’s low-cut blouse and pencil skirt made her lips curl up into an amused smile. Of course, both were overshadowed by the vibrantly mismatched blazer that, despite Annabelle’s attempts to roll up the sleeves, enveloped her. 

"Right. What are we going to do now then? Sit around and talk about boys?"

Helen scoffed. "You'll be talking to yourself." Annabelle stood, arms crossed over her chest. As amusing as the sight of her in an absurdly ill-fitting blouse was, she looked better in her own clothes. Even if they were lacking suitable colour variation.

“You look suitably adorable.”

Annabelle glared. “I’m the living embodiment of - ” 

“Yes, yes. Manipulation, evil, control. Whatever you want to go with. Still rather adorable.”

“Whatever. The dare’s done, I’m putting my own clothes back on.” 

Before she was even done talking, Annabelle had shrugged off the jacket and threw it over the desk. Helen forced her eyes away from the expanse of skin now revealed to her. Even as an Avatar for all-encompassing fear, she could look respectfully. 

“If you _must_.” As she spoke, Helen’s eyes flicked down to Annabelle’s arms, the short hairs there strangely on end considering the warmth in the room. Or was that just her?

She _almost_ jumped at the feeling of something crawling over the back of her neck, each step the creature took sending a pang of unease through her which shook her out of her thoughts. When she looked up, Annabelle was undeniably smug. 

“Your turn then. Truth of dare?.”

  
  
  


When she left the next morning, she couldn’t find the jacket in the pile of clothes Annabelle had left for her to take.

* * *

“Are you going to show something other than the corridors?”

Helen’s eyes narrowed, not appreciating the man’s tone. However, she didn’t let her smile drop. She’d have what she wanted eventually, even if she was put out over the wait.

“Oh, of course!” Her tone was pleasant, eager to please. Disgusting. “Where shall we start? There’s currently three hallways.”

“Currently? They adding more or something?”

“And the bedroom is -” quite frankly, the ugliest thing she’d ever seen, “- absolutely _gorgeous_ if I do say so myself. And it comes fully furnished, as discussed.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just something other than these creepy halls.” If he thought these were creepy, he had another thing coming. “I don’t care what the place looks like, I just need a place to make my girl happy.”

_Ah_ , Helen thought, _now that makes sense_ . Then again, perhaps she couldn’t cast too much judgement on what one would do for their significant other, considering her position with Anabelle. Not that she was her girl, or _her_ anything. Her annoyance, perhaps.

“Well, if you’ll -”

“Look.” He sighed. “Just tell me where to sign.”

Helen smiled, wide and unblinking. “Right through here, sir.” Gesturing to the new door back the way they’d come. 

He nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket and looking down, beginning to type eagerly. Telling his girlfriend, Helen guessed. It was good timing; the actual estate agent would be here soon for a tour. Before he could press send, he opened the door onto yet another corridor. 

This time, the walls were painting a warm yellow, personally watered potted plants lining the walls, not that the man had noticed. Before he could let out a cry of confusion at his surroundings, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving Helen leaning against the wall, still unsatisfied despite the addition to her hallways. She added a second door beneath him, letting the man fall between them for a few moments, but not even that made her feel any better. She was serving the Vast more than her own God.

At least she could complain to someone now.

* * *

Annabelle was already glaring at her by the time she climbed out of her doorway (which was more like a cellar door this time), but Helen didn’t let that dampen her mood. She had assumed Annabelle would know by now anyway - she always seemed to. Helen had considered whether Annabelle had a few of her puppets roaming around the Institute in case she decided to betray her, but couldn’t exactly prove it.

“Your previous Archivist lives to see another day!”

“You _actively_ helped him to remove two of his own ribs and lock himself in a coffin.” The harsh glare was incongruous with the softness of her face and yet, Helen had to admit, it wasn’t unpleasant. A rose, complete with its thorns.

Helen grinned, not even put out when she felt her wrists encased together in the chilled silk that Annabelle spun. She made a show of looking down at them and tutting, “Now, now. If this is the direction we’re going to take, I’m into it but we should at least use the bed.”

“We had a deal.”

“And he’s still breathing, albeit a bit stifled. But alive! Now, take these off me and move over, would you?” Before Annabelle could complain, Helen pushed her knees to the side with an elbow, taking a seat next to her. Her wrists cracked and bent around the silk as she did so. “To thank me for my hard work, I’m picking the movie.”

* * *

“They’re a scandalous little lot in there, honestly. Did you hear about their old Archivist and the Desolation’s darling messiah?” 

Annabelle’s hand tightened on her glass. They had finally come upon a compromise that didn’t involve Annabelle being dragged into Helen’s hallways and vice versa into Annabelle’s webs, which meant sitting in actual chairs in a (mostly) Fear-free room. They were surprisingly comfortable, actually. Or perhaps that was the wine talking. Helen brushed that thought aside; she wasn’t sure if she could get drunk now that she was Helen, but it didn’t seem very likely. Still, Annabelle looked classier than she thought was possible with a wine glass in one hand and loose strings cascading from the other. It was a pleasant view. 

“Do you choose the least interesting conversation topics on purpose?”

“Oh, my apologies, you poor thing. I wouldn’t want to bore you. Did you have more arachnid facts to share?” _That_ certainly had been an unusual, if educational, evening. Who knew a woman could still look good with eight eyes?

“Well, if you’re aski - “

“No! No, I’m _not_ asking.”

Annabelle was silent for a moment. “When are you going to call in your favour?”

“It’s eating away at you, isn’t it?” Helen knew that each time she caught the other woman staring at her for no apparent reason, her eyes noticeably tracing her body, Annabelle was trying to decipher what she was going to be asked for. “Not knowing?”

“Not at all.” _Liar_ , she thought. “I just don’t see what a woma - what someone like you would want.”

As she spoke, Annabelle stood. Since their rather eventful truth or dare session, she had proved that she did in fact own clothes with colour, but just often chose not to wear them. _A shame, truly._ That day she was practically engulfed in a wildly oversized cardigan that she had wrapped around herself, floating shapeless and loose around her bare thighs. It was a mess of orange and peach wool and it made Helen want to reach out and take it in her hands. She was standing at her dresser now, giving Helen a lovely view of her. The distraction meant she was only half-surprised when a low beat filled the room, Annabelle’s hips swaying with it.

“There’s plenty I want.” 

“An extension on your hallways?” 

Annabelle moved like there was a maze inside of her and she was still trying to discover the way out. It almost made Helen want to go against every fibre of her nature, to offer her a map, a thread leading out. But that meant Annabelle would stop. So she didn’t move, settling back in the chair instead.

“Only if that’ll get you in them.” Annabelle turned back now. Her eyes were glazed over, darkened. It wasn’t hard to see how she could burrow her way into people’s minds so easily, looking like that. And their trousers.

“And is that what you want? Me, lost, stumbling through your hallways, calling out your name?”

“Unless you’d rather be calling my name for other reasons?” If she was honest, it was probably an even split on which she’d prefer. Both would be a pretty sight. 

Annabelle was closer now, her lips parting to mouth along with the music. Her cardigan had slipped down her shoulders, revealing the skin that wasn’t covered by her vest, and that drew Helen’s eyes downwards.

“Perhaps I would.” 

In contrast to Helen’s own form, Annabelle was slim, which meant that when she slid into Helen’s lap, knees digging into the fabric either side of her thighs, she was able to be more than accommodating. Her hands came to rest on Annabelle’s still swaying hips, tracing the fabric there. Almost tender, reverent. Annabelle locked her own arms around the other woman’s neck, her hands playing with the stray curls by the base of her neck. Her touch was gentle now, but Helen knew how quickly that could change. In some ways, she hoped it would.

“So the daughter of Puppets _does_ know how to have some fun. That’s good to know.” 

They were a hair's breadth apart, Helen's fingers curling into her hips. They were both already monsters, it would hardly make sense to start denying their desires now. One hand had fallen to stroke the skin by her bare knee. 

“Stop talking.” Annabelle leaned in, her breath heavy, eyes closing.

Helen pulled back with a thump as her head rested against the back of the chair, unable to hide the smug grin creeping up on her. "Say please."

"No." The response was instantaneous. Annabelle's eyes drew back from the woman's lips, as though testing how serious she was, how far she'd push it. For half a second, Helen thought she saw Annabelle’s composure collapse as her teeth elongated into sharp knife-like beings, but a moment later it was as though nothing had happened. "I'm not going to play your games like that."

"And how many times has someone said that to you, dear?" Helen could feel the heat of Annabelle's breath on her skin, her own was still uneven. "You're really going to cut your nose off to spite your face?"

Finally, Annabelle pulled back, breaking free of Helen's grasp. "Yes." She tugged on the hem of her skirt, straightening out where the creases caused by Helen’s hands had led to it travelling up her thigh. "I assume you can show yourself the way out?"

“Does bending to someone else’s whims really disgust you so much? I mean, is that not what we’re all doing? Bending to the supposed whims of our Gods and hoping that it’s what they desire?”

“And how are you any different?”

“I never claimed to care _solely_ for the interests of the Spiral.” 

“Then what do you care for?”

Helen felt the already icy air freeze. She saw the question for the opportunity it was and, instead of softening to Annabelle’s desires, she turned cold with it.

“Myself.”

“And that’s all?”

A moment of hesitation. “Yes.”

Annabelle turned away, webs spinning up between them.

* * *

Sure, Helen could have easily backtracked, pulled Annabelle in for a kiss and distracted her from the almost-argument with her tongue, but that would have meant giving in. She had no interest in that. In every other aspect of her life, Annabelle had her webs and her puppets ensuring she was in control of every interaction she had. Helen wanted to know what it was like to take that.

She found that it wasn’t as satisfying as she had hoped it would be.

When Helen arrived two days later with a status report on the uncannily dangerous life of the Archivist and the hope that she could soothe over some sweet words, she found her door jammed. It was impossible for her not to remember Michael’s pain twisting and untwisting in him - in them - as he had been faced with the same sight, but Helen didn’t feel scared. Mild annoyance, perhaps, but not fear. She was too good at her job to be replaced. No other doors were locked for hers. Just Annabelle’s.

She came back the next day to find it locked once again. This time, she brought a note. She hadn’t signed it. There was no one else it would be from. Helen slid it into the opening in the door, hearing it hit the ground on the other side. For a moment, she considered distorting her body, sliding her hand in alongside it, but thought better of it for now.

  
  


_Little spider,_

_Locking my doors, hm? That certainly is quite rude. You’ll have to show me how you managed that one day. Are you always this petty when you don’t get your own way, darling?_

_Your Archivist’s still alive for now._

  
  


The next day, the door remained locked.

* * *

“Oh, Jesus _Christ_ ! Where the _fuck_ did you come from?”

“I’ve been standing here for the better half of that statement, Jon. You do get quite into them, don’t you?” Jon glared, a hand still on his tape recorder. “Oh, relax. I’m here to make sure you’re still alive, not kill you.”

_Does he ever meet someone and_ not _think they’re going to murder him?_

“Since when did you care about my wellbeing?”

Helen waved the question off. “You think the worst of me too often.”

“You’ve tried to kill me!”

“No. I haven’t. Any danger you’ve been at my hands was Michael’s decision. He’s dead. As Helen,” she watched as his jaw clenched at the name, “I have done nothing but look out for you.”

“You’ve been pushing me to sate my hunger. To give in.”

“I’ve been pushing you towards the inevitable, Archivist. You can not - and will not - survive like this forever. What’s the point of delaying it?”

“I want to be human.”

“Why on earth would you want that?”

“Don’t _you_ ever get hungry? Don’t you feel the _disgust_? The self-loathing when you’re done and reality kicks back in - the realisation?” He looked pained at the thought, dragging his fingers through his short locs. "When you realise... maybe you don't actually _regret_ it?"

"I don't allow myself to get to that stage. You should try it. You'll be less cranky."

"I am /not/ - " he sighed, "oh, it doesn't matter."

Helen hesitated for a moment, folding and unfolding her legs as she perched on the edge of his desk. She contemplated winding all of the archivist's pens into unusable spirals. "It's less satisfying for me than it was for Michael."

"What helps you?" As he spoke, she watched his gaze flicker to the closed door, presumably at the office down the corner, and then back to his desk. 

Later, when walking among the wreckage of what was once called the Magnus Institute, but was then a barren building ruled over by a watchless, aging king, Helen would find a bent and worn card as the only thing left in that drawer. 

_To Jon,_

_Happy birthday! I'll save the speech and won't make bringing up emulsifiers a tradition (though, by writing that, have I already done that?)_

_I hope you have a great day and that you enjoy the second annual Jonathan Sims surprise party._

~~_Lo_~~ _Best wishes,_

_Martin._

_P.S. I really hope you opened this after the surprise party happened._

Even without knowing that, she looked back up at him, her eyes softening. "Yeah. Me too."

* * *

_You know, I could always just entertain myself with Jon. That’s his name, you know? Jon. Jonathan._

_Names. Jon, Helen. They’re all silly things. I liked the way you said mine._

* * *

“Stop running.”

“Get away from me, you monster!”

She felt something collide with her forehead. A plant pot. Her own ferns. This girl was lucky that Helen didn’t possess this body in any physical sense or things would have played out in a very different way.

“That was rude. And I’m not _just_ a monster. I have hobbies too.” Helen huffed. “Why are you screaming? And people call _me_ dramatic.” Stretching to eight foot may also have been a little over the top, but at least she wasn’t yelling. Her arms stretched and reached a hooked finger through the girl’s necklace to stop her from running any further. Helen was surprised it didn’t break. “Where were you even going? These are all my halls.”

“What do you want from me?” The girl was trying to sound brave, but her voice quivered. 

“Just to talk. What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Your name. Like mine. Helen. Do you still remember yours?” The girl shook her head, breathing uneven, eyes trained on the floor. “They’re weird things anyway,” Helen shrugged. “I don’t think Helen is even really mine.”

“O-Oh.”

“Relax. I’m not here to kill you, that would be a very boring decision.” She didn’t look comforted by that fact at all, now eyeing Helen’s form. “Oh. Right.” By the time the girl looked back up, Helen was her normal, uneventful size. She slid down against the wall, thighs outstretched in front of her. “Have you ever been dumped? That’s what your lot calls it, don’t they?”

“Wh _at_?” She repeated. “My lot?”

“Humans.” Helen hummed. “I’m not saying I got dumped, that would be incredibly embarrassing. But what’s the etiquette there? How long do you wait before tearing a whole in the side of a building because they’re locking your doors?”

“Did you - are you here to talk about _boys_ ?” Helen grimaced. Who did this girl take her for? “You _kidnapped_ me!” 

“I hope that was a joke. Look, all I’m asking your opinion on a few questions and then I’ll let you go.” Her eyes widened, brows raising in an expression that may have once been hope.

“You will?” Helen nodded. “Oh, uh. Have you tried buying flowers?”

“She lives in a rather… unorthodox location. I can’t imagine delivery services reaching her.” She ignored the girl’s protests that they covered rural areas now, waving the idea away. Annabelle wouldn’t let her live it down if she opened the door to a bouquet of roses, even if she would probably accept the delivery driver as a sacrifice.

“What about a poem?”

“A poem.” There was a moment of silence as Helen regarded the girl. “What is the point of cultivating this whole throat of delusion incarnate reputation if someone’s just going to suggest I write a _poem_?”

“Well, I don’t know! You could just say you’re sorry.” Helen looked even more disgusted at that.

She leaned her head back against the wall, finding refuge in the too bright bulbs that decorated each of her corridors. Did Annabelle have to be so stubborn? The days were frustratingly longer now that her evenings were not spent goading her into letting Helen stay the night or making fun of how many vintage clothing items she managed to find in the same shade. It wasn’t that Helen missed _her_. She had just grown used to the company. And the view.

Annabelle was beautiful. That didn’t mean anything, anyone could see that. Her skin was a rich brown that glowed against the light of the candles she so often lit, as warm and inviting as her touch. The heat of it had the same sort of addicting pleasure that one of Helen’s sacrifices should have had; her nimble fingers were firm, but gentle, as they had pressed into Helen’s rounded hips. Even before then, she’d found herself drawn to the sight of Annabelle’s hands and the web that spun between each of the long digits. If not her hands, then her mouth. Something capable of talking circles around so many without breaking a sweat, to make them do exactly as she desired even without her Patron’s gifts. Then there were her eyes, even when all eight of them were visible, the way she felt with her weight bearing down against Helen, those rare laughs.

_Fuck_. She missed her.

“You’ve been a dreadful help.” A door appeared next to the girl, plain and uninteresting. “Go on then.” The girl dragged herself up without a second look back and, like a woman gasping for air, hurried through the door into a new spiralling set of corridors.

* * *

_I’d like to call in my favour._

* * *

“Seriously? You’re a _florist_ and the only purple thing you can name is _lavender_.” How did humans manage this so frequently? Weddings, funerals, birthdays, anniversaries. Flowers were everywhere and it was horrible. How was she supposed to know what to get?

It was another two minutes of shot down suggestions until Helen realised someone was in her hallways without permission. Usually she would have gladly accepted whatever poor thing had stumbled into one of the doors she forgot to close, but this felt stranger than usual. More of an intrusion, yet familiar. She turned and was greeted with a familiar sight.

“You’re…” Helen trailed off, ending the call without a second thought.

“Here. Yes.” Annabelle stared from the other end of the hallway, her gaze cold. “Were you just talking to a florist? Why?”

“Well, you see. I was, I suppose, rather desperate..” _How shameful._ Apologising with _flowers_. Not that Helen necessarily thought that she needed to apologise, of course. A little teasing gone too far, was all. Regardless, Annabelle’s gaze softened slightly, her hands unclenching.

“I hate flowers. They hurt my nose.”

“Which one?”

“Hilarious. Spiders don’t even actually have noses.” Helen’s eyebrows furrowed at that.

“What are you doing here? Thought you hated my hallways.”

“You said you wanted to call in your favour.”

“I would have come to you for that. All you had to do was stop locking my doors.” She thought about asking how Annabelle had managed that, but decided it was a discussion for another day, despite her burning desire to know.

It was an odd sight seeing Annabelle there. She’d thought about taking her into those hallways on various occasions, of course, though whether that was a desire of her own or her Patron’s bleeding through into hers, she was never entirely sure. The vibrant walls now framing Annabelle drew her mind back to the sight of her in Helen’s own similarly coloured clothes, pulling the ill-fitting jacket close around herself. Each mirror decorating the walls were shattered beyond recognition after the last time Helen had accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in them.

“So what… people just stumble around in here forever and you watch?” Annabelle looked distastefully at her surroundings as she ran a finger along the wall.

“I don’t play the same games my predecessor did.” As much as Helen enjoyed the position she’d earned for herself, there was a hint of resentment in her voice. “Though you make it sound quite a lot more enjoyable than it is. You forget the part where you start to forget every facet of your identity, even your own name.”

“You didn’t.”

“My case was singular, of course.” Annabelle rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips turning up slightly. 

“Oh, _of course_.” There were a few moments of silence then as they both looked around, ignoring the other’s gaze. Helen hated the giddy feeling rising inside of her each time she looked up and caught Annabelle’s gaze. One half of her told her to call off their agreement now, walk away and never see the woman again. It would almost definitely be the sane option. “Your favour…”

“Oh! Yes, well. That was mostly an excuse to get you to speak to me again.”

Annabelle raised a single eyebrow. “You’d be screwed if you were serving Forsaken, you know?”

“A boring Entity. They wouldn’t deserve me.” 

Annabelle hummed softly and she couldn’t tell if that was agreement or amusement.

“So you’re not calling in your favour?”

“Hm, no. I am. I’m saying you’re not allowed to lock any of my doors in future.” _That_ hum was definitely frustration. “That includes tonight.”

“I have plans.”

“We both know you don’t. And so, we should - ” Helen was cut off as she felt her thoughts break into two directions, loud knocks reverberating around her head. “Your Archivist sure has shit timing, Annabelle.”

Knocks again. More insistent now.

Helen gave an apologetic look, a door appearing next to them. “Don’t lock it behind you. I’ll find you when I’ve dealt with whatever moral crisis he’s whining over today.”

Annabelle looked like she wanted to protest, but bit her tongue. Instead she took a step forward and brushed a hand over Helen’s collar, flattening it.

“You better.”

* * *

So the Archivist had finally caught onto the game that was being played around him. Helen wondered if he would give into his nature now that he realised all he stood to lose otherwise.

The arrival of Peter Lukas in the Institute had been of no interest to Helen, other than the mild frustration the smell of saltwater permeating her doorways caused. However, he would not have agreed to take part in the Eye’s plans unless something big was coming.

_As long as there are enough people to sustain her and some good entertainment,_ she thought _, then she’d be happy. And Annabelle, of course._

It took her a few moments to realise what she had thought. Caring about someone else was a rather uncomfortable feeling, Helen noted. She didn’t like the way it twisted inside her like her own halls, making her second guess each of her decisions. It worsened when she was struck with the possibility that Annnabelle may not like the prospect of this new world as much as she did. While she was able to adapt to wherever she was, regardless, for the most part, of which Fear controlled it, the Web preferred the world as it was.

She didn’t know much about the plans Annabelle had spun in the months since she had become Helen, other than her part in keeping Jon alive, but each time she visited she seemed in the middle of planning something or another. If she wasn’t testing out her latest puppet, she was researching the logistics of her schemes or choosing an outfit to best fit the role she was playing. But no matter what it was, it always relied on the presence of others and, Helen could guess, the manipulation of their free will.

If that smarmy servant of the Eye Helen had done her best to avoid since becoming the Distortion intended to change that, Annabelle deserved to know.

* * *

In her decision, Helen hadn’t given much thought to where her door was opening up until she realised she had already stepped through what was essentially now a hole in the floor with a door swinging languidly on its hinge. She expected to hit the floor in a rather uncivilised manner which would be embarrassing enough in front of Annabelle (though not the first time she’d done it alone), when she felt herself colliding with something much softer. It did not feel sturdy beneath her. The opposite, in fact. It caved and bounced with every movement, sticking to each curve of her body.

“Huh.” Helen ignored the amused look Annabelle was shooting her. _And all it took was to put herself in an embarrassing form of danger._ “I guess you could say I fell for y -”

“If you say that, I’ll kick you out again.”

Helens lips snapped shut.

She craned her head to look up at the other woman who was sitting back in her own bed of webs, legs crossed. Helen considered climbing up there, taking a seat by her side. Then she remembered what she came to do. It was difficult trying to balance on these webs, each harsh line of silk that turned into a spiral beneath her fingers had Annabelle letting out a mournful sigh over its destruction, but after a few attempts she managed to turn around without jeopardising _too_ much of her dignity. The rather… unstable nature of her limbs meant it was hard to perfect navigating them in any size.

“The Eye is planning a ritual.”

“Yes.” Annabelle didn’t pause to blink. “And the Archivist will aid Beholding’s overzealous servant in bringing it about.”

Helen cocked her head. “You knew.”

“Of course. Did you really expect any less of me?” Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Were you worried?”

“No,” she replied without hesitation, eyes flickering to the wall behind Annabelle.

“Liar.”

“You should expect that of me by now. It’s in my nature after all.” 

It was Annabele’s turn to look disapprovingly at the other woman now, her eyebrows furrowed. “It isn’t.” Helen shifted under her gaze, lowering her chin. “You’re not someone who lies for the sake of it. You don’t play the same elaborate games as your predecessor.”

"Look,” Helen was eager to turn the subject around, “I've kept your Archivist alive long enough for the next stage of whatever your grand plan is. We could do so much more than just that together. We make a good team. Admit it."

"And you aren't curious as to what that is? My plan?" 

With how satisfied Annabelle looked with herself at the mention of it, Helen was sure that she wanted to talk about it.

"I imagine whatever it is will give me an opportunity to enjoy myself thoroughly."

"You sound incredibly confident."

"Yes." Helen said simply, accompanied a wave of dismissal. They were close now, enough that if Helen were to reach out from where she was kneeling she could easily brush a hand through Annabelle's curls. She couldn’t help but remember the last time they were in this position. "Not only am I very flexible when it comes to the things I enjoy, I also know that you're not going to create a world that makes me suffer."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Annabelle.” She moved in closer now. “Don't ask stupid questions."

It was Annabelle that made the final move, to Helen’s surprise. She felt a hand grip the back of her lips and half expected Annabelle to pull back before their lips finally touched, but it seemed they’d both had enough of those games. Instead, Helen fell into Annabelle’s soft lips, cupping her cheek with one hand. Helen’s fingertips danced with every touch of the woman’s skin and her concerns splintered beneath each twirl. 

By the time Helen was forced to pull away, absently noting her hallways shifting as her concentration faded, she was breathless. _Why the fuck did she still need air?_ She pulled Annabelle back in with fistfuls of her shirt, eyes tracing over the sliver of her torso that shone in the light as the shirt rode up under Helen’s ministrations.

“Was that an agreement?” Helen asked between kisses, her voice breathier than she wanted it to be. Annabelle’s hands traced over her thighs, lips behind her ear.

“I’ll say it’s an agreement if you say plea - ” She leaned back in, teeth grazing over Annabelle’s collarbone to stop her in her tracks, a sigh escaping Annabelle instead of the end of her sentence.

“God, _please_ don’t start that again.”

“If you want me to stop talking, I’m sure you’ll find a way.” 

Helen felt the silk beneath her become more solid as Annabelle added decorative intricacies to the web almost accidentally. She seemed surprised when she looked down and caught sight of the additions. 

"Uh huh. You stick to just the two hands, little spider, and I'll keep mine the length they're supposed to be."

“I never asked you to do that.”

Helen raised an eyebrow, before leaning back in. Her hands came to Annabelle’s waist, tugging on the fabric there until she could feel soft skin beneath her hands. When the sound of Annabelle sighing her name, the one she’d taken, filled the room, she thanked every God that was listening and found that she didn’t particularly care which one won.

* * *

Around them, the world fell apart.

**Author's Note:**

> for the record this is not what i think is happening in canon like helen is just vibing in that lol but lonelyeyes shippers were allowed to do everything they did so i can do this
> 
> also moment of silence for the phone sex scene that i had to cut bc i didn't want this to have an E rating. u will be missed.


End file.
